Too Sexy for his Stetson Read Free

rose to a crouch. “On three, unload five or six rounds at those SOBs, and then we’re out of here. Up that hill.” He pointed to the rise beyond the cabin. “Zigzag.”
    Brandy touched her finger to the trigger and pressed it repeatedly.
    “Go!” he yelled.
    The minute she jumped up, the man in the snakeskin boots snatched her arm and pushed her in front of him. His warm hand pressed against her back as he urged her toward the sharply rising slope. If they made it up the hill without sprouting holes in their circulatory systems, they could disappear into the woods.
    Toeing her hiking boots into the rocky incline, she pushed for all she was worth, jogging uphill, and closed in on the ridge.
    “Excuse me, ma’am.” His big hand flattened on her butt and boosted her over the top of the embankment.
    Chin first, she landed in dried leaves. He thudded down next to her, then pushed up, pulling her to her feet. Embraced by tree shadows, Brandy jerked her head around to look down at the cabin. Four men. Dark green SUV. Make that six men, counting the two who’d just pulled up in a familiar truck and who were at the very moment scrambling out of her rusty Ford, which she’d left parked along the road.
    “They’ve got my truck!” Her jaw snapped shut. Damn, that truck was the first vehicle she’d ever owned. While she lamented her loss, her detainee grabbed her arm and took off, charging deeper into the woods.
    In the span of twenty minutes, she’d encountered more action than she’d seen during her entire first month of field training. She should have been scared, but she wasn’t. Instead, the adrenaline pumping through her system charged her with energy. Harnessing the energy, she forged along the footpath through dense thicket, Stetson Man at her side. Rounds of ammunition bombarded the pristine wilderness around them.
    “Keep going,” he ordered.
    Excuse me, who’s in charge? For a split second, she entertained the idea of setting him straight.
    Ping. A bullet grazed tree bark inches from her chest. Damn. She ducked, and her companion, with his hand tethered to hers, plunged off the path into the trees and poured on the steam. Sprinting. Stumbling over rocks. Skidding on spree.
    He–Who–Thought–He–Was–in–Charge suddenly stopped. Brandy plowed into him. As she glanced around, he leapt over the edge of the narrow pathway, tugging her along. They rolled down a brush–covered slope and hit a narrow ledge. And bounced off.
    Falling, sliding, somersaulting. The world spun as she tumbled head–over–heels, making the acquaintance of every rock in her path. Cinders bit the exposed skin between the hem of her T–shirt and the waistband of her jeans, and dry twigs grabbed her hair and snarled in her curls.
    At last she came to an abrupt stop at the bottom of the gulch. Atop a mass of steel–hard man. Breathless, nose–to–nose with the handsome suspected thief, she faced off with him. Her heart thumped like a coyote on speed in contrast to his, which held a controlled, steady beat. His hot skin seared her. That would be the hot skin of his rock solid chest, against which her breasts were intimately pressed.
    “You’re still under arrest.”
    “Shush.” Index finger to his lips, he shook his head.
    They lay motionless for untold minutes until the sound of angry shouts and tromping footsteps on the trail above subsided. With her legs straddling his hips, she gripped his shoulders and muscled her upper body away. “Were those guys after you?”
    His cool, sexy gaze slid over her sweat–drenched torso as though she were the winner of a wet T–shirt contest. Mentally rolling her eyes, she pulled the damp fabric away from her chest and scowled.
    “Could be,” he drawled.
    Her inner cop took charge. With a quick sideways glance, she scanned the surrounding brush and spotted her rifle. Ten feet away. Slowly, she levered herself to a standing position and backed toward the Remington.
    Engrossed with